Ladies of Horror Flash Project – #Horror #author Kathleen McCluskey @KathleenMcClus4 @darc_nina #LoH #fiction

Posted on March 27, 2023 by Ladies of Horror

The Ladies of Horror
Picture-Prompt Writing Challenge!

24
Rachel 
by Kathleen McCluskey 

Rachel looked over her shoulder at her mother as she walked out of the dilapidated building that they had found refuge. Her demure looks and coy smiles held a very malevolent soul. She shot her mother one of those smiles over her shoulder, “Don’t worry, mom, I will be careful. I always am. If I find something, I will bring you back something to eat.” Her mother could only muster a small grunt in response. The past few years had been rough on the family. Food was scarce and the war raging around them made it even more difficult to find food. The population of the city had fled during the air raids and only a few citizens had remained in the destroyed city. The buildings lay in ruin and rubble piles blocked the streets.

She stepped out into the cold darkness. The acrid smell of fires that had been long ago extinguished met her nose. Rachel didn’t seem to care as she sighed deeply. It felt great to be out of their cramped quarters and into the open air. She scanned her desolate surroundings and began her search for food. Her family was depending on her to bring back something to feast on.

Rachel began to walk towards the river; she knew that the rats would always congregate near the shore. She was hoping to find something more substantial than rats. The odds of scoring something for her family were always in her favor when she hunted in the blackness. She crept silently in the surf of the cold, crisp water; scanning every few feet to locate prey.

As the sky began to change from deep black to having a slight crimson glow, she knew that the sun was about to rise. She looked up at the sky and shook her head. Her family was starving and she needed to find something quickly. Rachel could feel vibration coming from inside the rubble. She used her bare feet to feel the debris deeper. Her eyes rolled over white and she hissed loudly at the pieces of concrete. She lifted a monolithic scrap of rock and tossed it over her shoulder as her eyes went from white to red. Rachel could see that there was an older man under the rubble. His small fire pushed playful little sparks up into the night sky. He tried to scream but Rachel was on him in an instant. She plunged her pointed fangs into his neck; his resistance soon faded. Rachel yanked him out of his underground concealment and put him over her shoulder. She smiled broadly as she knew that his blood would satisfy her family, they just had to keep him alive long enough to feast on him for days.

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Fiction © Copyright Kathleen McCluskey
Image courtesy of Pixabay.com 

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More from Kathleen McCluskey:

The Long Fall: Book 1: The Inception of Horror

Lucifer always cunning and intelligent challenges father to a battle of wits. Being the angel of light he casts a judgemental eye upon mankind. He begins a war with his fellow archangels and God. Michael, along with his siblings defend their home and mankind from their deranged brother. Broad swords and hand to hand combat drench heaven in blood. The four apocalyptic steeds are released, each having their own destructive power. Betrayal and lust are at biblical levels. Understand the very creation of evil and the consequenses that transpire in the first of THE LONG FALL series.

Available on Amazon!

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Ladies of Horror Flash Project – #Horror #author Amy Zoellers @breakfastpoet @Darc_Nina #LoH #fiction

Posted on March 26, 2023 by Ladies of Horror

The Ladies of Horror
Picture-Prompt Writing Challenge!

19

My Hair Recalls the Sea
by Amy Zoellers 

My hair recalls the sea, you say—

unaware of my command

over its deadliest beings,

those who secret in the bend of horizon

and cleave to the deepest caverns.

I release my reverberant, aberrant song-storm,

my shrilling squall

and they uncoil, stretch into waking.

One breath and they are force,

swarming nightmare and despair

over those who insult me—

and to all who have erred

into the neighborhood.

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Fiction © Copyright Amy Zoellers
Image courtesy of Pixabay.com.
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More from Amy Zoellers:

OrdealInFrenchLipstick

Ordeal in French Lipstick

Art! Fun!! Poetry and song! Portraits, dolls, prints, jewelry… and so much more! Find Amy on Instagram:  Hipness and Outrage 

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Posted in Authors, Dark Fiction, flash fiction, FREE, Horror, Ladies of Horror, Writing Project | Tagged , , , , , , , , | 4 Comments

Ladies of Horror Flash Project – #Horror #author Nikki Blakely @darc_nina #LoH #fiction

Posted on March 26, 2023 by Ladies of Horror

The Ladies of Horror
Picture-Prompt Writing Challenge!

The Bones
by Nikki Blakely

The old woman stood near the window, her figure a darkening silhouette against the fading daylight that filtered in through a thin curtain as it undulated softly in the evening breeze.

He would come today, she was sure of it. She had felt it in her bones weeks ago, the intensity growing with each passing day until finally that morning, the pain so mighty she almost could not pull herself out of bed. And the bones were never wrong; not just the ones she kept in the small velvet pouches tucked away in the heavy mahogany trunk Maman had given her, but her own bones, the ones that had carried her flesh since birth, and would one day carry her to her grave.

She didn’t often get visitors to her little house at the end of La Rue Du Fonce. Most tourists satisfied themselves with visiting the establishments at the beginning of the street and having their fortunes told by means of tarot cards or tea leaves, perhaps even a palm reading. Most didn’t really want to know what their futures held; rather, they wanted to hear what they wanted to hear. But sometimes there were others; ones who were willing to look the devil in the eye if they might see their truth there. It was them who ventured down past the shops selling crystals, love potions and dreamcatchers, to the darkened house at the end of La Rue.

Maman had named her Cherché, and even though she did not speak French, she understood the word to mean “to look”, because, as Maman had explained to her —  only when you look, will you see. And Ché, as she liked to be called, understood that if she looked hard enough, she would see things others could not, because Ché, just like her Maman, and her Grand-mére, and her Arriére Grand-mére and on and on back to 18th century Haiti, was a Manbo, a Vodou Priestess.

There was another with a storefront on La Rue that claimed to be such, who, according to the sign in the front window, read not only cards and palms, but bones as well. Intrigued, Ché paid a visit one afternoon and, requesting a reading, was surprised to find the Priestess to be a girl of no more than fourteen years, and her reading bones, kept in an empty cigar box, were from nothing more than a grocery store chicken.

Ché had chicken bones, of course. Along with sheep knuckles, squirrel, cat, bird, opossum, rat, and others, each polished to a gleaming white and enclosed in their own black velvet pouch. Her bones, handed down from her ancestors, had all come from the ritualistic animal sacrifice required to give the bones their power, such was the old way.

The bones the girl laid out held no such power, but after she told Ché her fortune — she was soon to go on a journey — Ché smiled and slid a ten dollar bill towards her. It was then she noticed the white man standing in the corner, his skin a yellowish pallor, like spoiled milk and his pale blue eyes following her as she left the store.

Ché looked out her front window once again, and was startled to see a skeletal face looking back at her. Her heart jumped as she thought Papa Legbo himself had come to collect her, but then the man stepped forward and she saw it was the blue-eyed man from the shop up the street.

“Madame,” he said, “I’m sorry to bother you at such a late hour, but as you felt inclined to sample my wares, so am I inclined to sample yours.”

Ché opened the door, and motioned him towards a table and chair in the middle of the room, then took her place sitting opposite. Leaning down, she opened the ornately carved trunk, then ran her hand through the stacks of velvet pouches, listening intently for the distinct rattle to tell which set of bones spoke for this man.

She heard a faint click-click-click, and saw a pouch near the bottom tied with a gold string twitching. She picked it up, and dumped the contents out onto the table. The man’s mouth hung open, his eyes widening in terror as the bones came together, forming two skeletal hands. Fingertips dug into the table as the hands pulled themselves towards him, then jumped to his throat, and began to squeeze.

“You are soon going to die,” Ché said, and smiled.

.

Fiction © Copyright Nikki Blakely
Image courtesy of Pixabay
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Ladies of Horror Flash Project – #Horror #author Melissa R. Mendelson @melissmendelson @Darc_Nina #LoH #fiction

Posted on March 25, 2023 by Ladies of Horror

The Ladies of Horror
Picture-Prompt Writing Challenge!

16

Voice Box
by Melissa R. Mendelson 

It was a soft knock that broke the quiet afternoon.  The sun was just slipping into the family room, warming up the furniture, and whispering to just relax and enjoy the day.  The soft knock came again, almost as if a bird were tapping away at the side of the house, and another knock followed.  It was a little girl dressed in red and holding a box in her hands.

“Hello,” I said.  “Can I help you?”

“Amanda?”

I was surprised that she called me by my first name, and she said it with such an authority too.  “Yes.  Can I help you?”

The little girl slid inside the house without a second thought.  She glanced into the family room, and the sun quickly withdrew behind a cloud.  The room darkened, chilled by a cold breeze from an open window, and the little girl made herself comfortable on one of the chairs.  She didn’t look at me but patted the seat next to her.

“I didn’t ask you to come in.”  I closed the front door and walked toward the family room, but I hesitated.  There was something about this little girl, something that made my skin crawl.  “Can I help you?  Is there something that you want from me?”

“Sit down.”  She wasn’t asking.

“This is my house,” I said.

“Sit,” and my knees nearly buckled.  “We need to talk.”  She played with a strand of blond hair.

I forced myself into the family room, but I did not sit down beside her.  I sat in the loveseat opposite her and looked at the box resting on her lap.  It reminded me of Christmas with its red color and small bow, but a small voice inside told me that there was something much darker waiting in that box.

“I need the word.”  The little girl had the appearance of an angel, but her tone was the opposite.  “The word that you were not supposed to say.”

“The word?  What word?”

“I am here to collect that word, and you know what word I am referring to.”  Her stare cut into my heart.  “I need you to say it to me.”

The word?  Color drained from my face, and my body shuddered.  I knew what she was, but she looked so innocent.  Was she even a child, and she giggled as if she read my mind.  No, she was something more, and she knew what I had said.  And I should not have said it, but I used that word a lot.  It was just a word, and who told her that I said it?  But anyone could have told her.  It was just a matter of time before she came here, but would she hurt me?  Would she hurt my daughter, who was upstairs in her room?  How do I get rid of this little girl and her strange box?

“You say the word,” the little girl said.  “And don’t worry about your daughter.  I don’t need her.  Yet.”

“My daughter doesn’t curse.”  I tried to stand but failed.  “She didn’t say that word.”  I eyed the box in the little girl’s hands.

“She used another word.”  She smiled suddenly.  “You’re thinking of your word right now.  Are you ready to say it?”

As I opened my mouth, the little girl shot to her feet, moving fast and shoved the box almost in my face, but she didn’t open it.  She waited, and I closed my mouth.  For a moment, her face flickered as if it were a mask ready to peel away, but she shrugged it off.  And her blue eyes sliced through me as she leaned in close and pulled out a small, silver pocketknife, placing it on top of the box.

“What’s the knife for,” I whispered.

“To cut out your tongue.”  She said this as if she were just asking about the weather or the time.  “I’ve cut many tongues out before.”  She yawned, and part of me wanted to grab her and throw her outside.  But I couldn’t.  “You can’t touch me.”  She smiled.  “You have no power over me.  But I have power over you,” and her words pushed me further into my seat.

“It’s my house.  Get out of my house.”

“Not without the word.”  Now, she seemed annoyed, still holding the box in my face. “What will it be?  The box or the knife?”  She looked at the knife.

“The word, the box, but it’s just the word.  Right?”

“No.”  Her eyes bore into mine, and I felt a piece of me slip away.  “It’s more than just the word.  Every memory surrounding that word will be taken from you.  You should’ve been more careful when you said that word, but here we are now.”  She put the knife away but sadly as if she would’ve preferred to use it instead of the box.  “Ready?”

“So, you’re taking my memories too?”

“I can cut out your tongue instead.”  She reached for the knife again but stopped.  “I have a long list to get to, and you’re wasting my time.  Do you want me to leave?”  She watched me nod.  “Then, give me your word.”  Her tone of voice pulled another piece of me away.

“Fuck,” I said, and she opened the box.  “Fuck.”  My mind spun around like one of those carnival rides.  “Fuck.”  I couldn’t stop myself.  “Fuck.  Fuck you,” and I could feel more pieces of me falling into that darkness inside the box.  “Fuck!”  I fell back in my seat, and part of me felt… Empty.  “Hi, little girl.  Can I help you?”

“No, we’re done.”  The little girl slammed the box shut.  “Thank you for your help.”

“I’m glad to have helped you.”  I touched my head, feeling a little dizzy.  “What did I help you with?”

“Mom!”

I looked at my daughter.  She was so beautiful, but she seemed also like a stranger.  When did I give birth to her?  “Yes…” I searched my memory for her name.  Oh, what was her name?  “Jackie.  Yes, Jackie.”

The little girl spun toward Jackie.  “Great.  You’re here, and you’re next on my list.  Would you like to sit down?”

“No, I don’t want to sit down.”  Jackie walked into the room, keeping her distance from the little girl, and giving me a strange look like I was in danger.  “What did you do to my mother?”

“I’m fine,” I said.  “I think.”

“She’s fine,” the little girl said.  “And you’re better off than her.  At least, you only said your word once, but it’s still a dangerous word.”

“Mom, are you okay?”

“Yes,” I said.  “Jackie.  Just tell her the word.  It’s okay.”

Jackie didn’t have a chance to blink as the box now wavered in front of her face.  “Fine.  I will say the word, and then you get out of my house.”

“Say it.”  The little girl’s voice made Jackie cringe.  “Now.”

“The word.”  She watched the little girl open the box and glanced at me.  “The word is White.  The room was so White.”  She fell to the floor a moment later.  “What happened,” but the little girl did not answer her.

The little girl walked out of the house.

.

Fiction © Copyright Melissa R. Mendelson
Image courtesy of Pixabay.com.
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About Author Melissa R. Mendelson:

Melissa R. Mendelson is the self-published author of the short story collections, Better Off Here and Stories Written Along COVID Walls, which can be found on Amazon/Amazon Kindle. She also recently had a short collection of poetry, This Will Remain With Us, published by Wild Ink Publishing. More about Melissa can be found here: https://linktr.ee/melissarmendelson

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The Ladies of Horror Flash Project – #Horror #author Lee Mitchell @Darc_Nina #LoH #fiction

Posted on March 25, 2023 by Ladies of Horror

The Ladies of Horror
Picture-Prompt Writing Challenge!

15

Happy Places 
by Lee Mitchell  

.Sometimes, there is no difference between fantasy and reality. Both become something fluid, merging into one another and obscuring time and space itself. Phantoms break through the rift every once in a while, strangers who pretend to know who I am. They want to control me, talk about things that don’t really exist, and force me into a place that’s cold, nonsensical, and lonely.

There are no roses to smell there, no soil to dig my hands into, no sunlight on my face. Just four white walls, smells of bleach to offset the stench of death and decay, strangers in their scrubs and white coats asking me if I remember who they are. I don’t, but I nod anyway. I can’t even recall how I get there, if I’m going to be honest, but I do know it’s a prison.

A young woman with sad, caring eyes gave me the key to my escape. It’s a magic key, and it transforms my lost reflections into shards of reality that I know to be genuine. My little girl is there. So is my husband.

Each time I hear that beautiful, familiar music, I’m back. I’m awake.

And I’m happy here, so I think it’s time I stood my ground. No more tears. No more nightmares of phantoms in scrubs and strangers and their confusing questions. They won’t pull me away from this beautiful lucidity ever, ever again.

.

Fiction © Copyright Lee Mitchell.
Image courtesy of Pixabay.com

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Ladies of Horror Flash Project – #Horror #author Angela Yuriko Smith @AngelaYSmith @darc_nina #LoH

Posted on March 24, 2023 by Ladies of Horror

The Ladies of Horror
Picture-Prompt Writing Challenge!

Unfelt Flames of Kate Leone
by Angela Yuriko Smith

The beginning and the end
are the same moment for me
today when the flames around us
engulf the unfelt flames in my heart
and my future, my dreams and tomorrows—
and God, us and them—
and everything I know—
in a moment, turns to ash.

I am on fire—aflame!—
for life, for the butcher boy
and for my expected $7
earned from my 52 loyal hours
spent cutting shirtwaists no longer in fashion
for ladies I will never know
and as the lady I will never be
in a moment, turns to ash.

Saturday night—and freedom!—
approaches with the fire that blisters
the blisters that I fussed over this morning
on my tired end-of-the-week fingers.
Ignorant, I blindly wasted this day.
I let it spin by, unseen, my eyes glued on the end
where I follow the crowd, not to death, but to pay that
in a moment, turns to ash.

I have pined for the moment where I can be on fire
eager for the promised kiss that now wastes
poised on my lips, parted not from a sigh, but a cry
as the unfelt flames of my youth are consumed
by the conflagration that surrounds us all.
Dawn rose with its usual promise of life
never hinting at an end at the end of a day that
in a moment, turns to ash.

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More from Angela Yuriko Smith:

Angela Yuriko Smith is an American poet, author and co-publisher of Space and Time magazine, a publication that has been printing speculative fiction, art and poetry since 1966. Together we build a poem as a community each month. Visit “Exquisite Corpse” at SpaceandTime.net to submit.

Catch up with Angela here!

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The Ladies of Horror Flash Project – #Horror #author Suzanne Madron @suzannemadron @Darc_Nina #LoH #fiction

Posted on March 24, 2023 by Ladies of Horror

The Ladies of Horror
Picture-Prompt Writing Challenge!

13

Children of the Stones 
by Suzanne Madron 

I think about the old rock quarry a lot. I certainly think about it more now than I did back then, when it was still part of my life, with its dark-stained stream bleeding out of the nearby swamp into its quicksand crevices.

My siblings and I grew up amongst the familiar outcroppings and mud of that quarry. We spent our days and nights swimming in the dark-stained stream, diving down into the depths where no one could see us and resurfacing far enough away to float among the reeds, unseen.

We were happy then, before the men and machines came and blasted our family sanctum apart and long after the machines were left dead and rusting, the metal skeletons half-sunk and fossilizing in the dirt of a hundred landslides at the bottom of the quarry.

We persisted when they were all gone, we grew up, and we moved out. The plan was simple. Humans came into our home and destroyed it and now we live in their homes of wood and steel and glass. It seems fitting that we will bring down their world just as they brought down our hillsides and mountains in order to make their houses and buildings all those years ago. We have reclaimed what was ours, and when the time comes, our children will return to the stones we left.

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Fiction © Copyright Suzanne Madron
Image courtesy of Pixabay.com

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More from Suzanne Madron:

For Sale or Rent

The house across the street seems to go on the market every few months, but this time nothing about the sale is normal, including the new owners. No sooner has the for sale sign come down and the neighborhood is thrown into a Lovecraftian nightmare and the only way to find out is to attend the house warming party.

Available on Amazon!

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Posted in Authors, Dark Fiction, flash fiction, FREE, Horror, Ladies of Horror, Writing Project | Tagged , , , , , , , | 2 Comments

Ladies of Horror Flash Project – #Horror #author Jaime Johnesee @JaimeJohnesee @Darc_Nina #LoH #fiction

Posted on March 23, 2023 by Ladies of Horror

The Ladies of Horror
Picture-Prompt Writing Challenge!

10

Mr. Bonner’s House of Horrors 
by Jaime Johnesee 

Lilibet skipped down the street, exuding joy for the first time in a long time. Her braids bounced behind her and she brought smiles to the villagers’ faces.

“Hello, Bet!” Mr. Andersen waved.

“Hello!” Lilibet skipped past, waving back as she did so.

“Lili, I have to come see your mama for a tincture for my arm, is she in today?” Mrs. Crease asked.

“No. She’s gone for good!” the little girl hollered happily and kept skipping.

Mrs. Crease and Mr. Andersen looked at each other over the fence, puzzled by what the girl had said.

“Lilibet! What do you mean?” Mrs. Crease asked, uncomfortably.

“I killed her, Papa, too. I even killed Hawk!” she blurted, giggled, and returned to skipping.

“She must be joking,” Mr. Andersen said, his face pale.

“Must be. Let’s go see,” Mrs. Crease opened her gate and waited for Andersen to do the same.

He joined her and they hurried to the home of Rose, Hunter, Hawk, and Lilibet.

It was two streets over and took some time for them to get there.

“The front door is wide open. Maybe we should get the sheriff?” Mrs. Crease toyed with her handkerchief uncomfortably.

“I’m going to go in and see. Could be she’s just telling tales and forgot to close the door behind her,” he said, stepping into the house and shouting, “hello!”

It wasn’t long before he came running back out, “go get the sheriff,” said between gags and heaves, he vomited by the front stoop.

Mrs. Crease ran to the sheriff’s office and begged for help.

The sheriff entered the house to see all four family members dead.

Rose, Hunter, and Hawk had been stabbed multiple times by a pair of sewing shears. Lilibet’s young body hung from the railing leading to the second floor.

A note left on the kitchen table read, “They didn’t believe me about Mr. Bonner. That he did things to me, bad things, things my parents knew about. He paid them to stay quiet. He paid Hawk too. They also didn’t believe me about the child ghosts I saw. The ones like me, the ones Mr. Bonner made. So I made sure they could see them. After everything I did, and everything he did to me, I just wanted to be a ghost, too. I’m sorry if this means I go to Hell, but I sure don’t want to be here anymore. Lilibet.”

“If she’s gone, who was that we saw skipping by us? And what ghosts is she talking about?” Mr. Andersen asked the sheriff.

Mrs. Crease heard none of it as she was face down on the floor having fainted at the horrors around her.

“It’s a damn shame, such a sweet kid. I had my suspicions about Bonner, but he left town yesterday. Nothing we can do about it now,” the sheriff shrugged and turned to Mr. Andersen, “go get Doc Woods. Tell him to bring some smelling salts will ya? Damn shame.”

The sheriff shook his head as Andersen gladly ran from the house of horrors.

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Fiction © Copyright Jaime Johnesee
Image courtesy of Pixabay.com

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More from Jaime Johnesee:


Shifters: A Samantha Reece Mystery

When a serial killer begins leaving remains of victims in hotel bathtubs all over town FBI Agent Samantha Reece makes it her business to stop him.

This detective’s got an ace up her sleeve in the form of her ability to shift into the guise of a were panther. As she tracks down the cold-hearted murderer she also has to contend with an anti-shifter group determined to destroy her.

Not to mention the black jaguar who turned her decides to come sauntering back into her life.

Available on Amazon!

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Posted in Authors, Dark Fiction, flash fiction, FREE, Horror, Ladies of Horror, Writing Project | Tagged , , , , , , , | 4 Comments

Ladies of Horror Flash Project – #Horror #author A.F. Stewart @scribe77 @darc_nina #LoH #fiction

Posted on March 23, 2023 by Ladies of Horror

The Ladies of Horror
Picture-Prompt Writing Challenge!

Not Again
by A.F. Stewart

I’m cold and a breeze is blowing up my… dress. Everything feels twisted and a musty stench fills my nose. What am I lying on? Some scratchy fabric—did I tie one on and end up at Scooter’s place? I open my eyes, expecting a hangover.

Oh shit, it happened again.

I’m in the middle of a who-knows-where field sprawled on a grimy couch with my legs flying high and my ass one inch from mooning the wildlife. For half a minute, I hope it’s not… but then I smell the blood and the stink of viscera.

Another body. About six feet from the couch, oozing fluid into the dirt from a shredded abdomen. I can still taste the raw meat and blood in my mouth.

Damn shit demon. We had a deal. No more blackouts.

I’m supposed to be aware during the kills.

Wait is the dead guy my ex?

Now that damn demon has gone too far. 

He promised me I could eat Ralph. 

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More from A.F. Stewart:

vn

Visions and Nightmares

Tragedy spares no one… and takes no prisoners.
In the twilight shadows, secrets are revealed past the whispers of madness.

Wander into the realm of the old gods with Elenora, where humanity and marriage are a prison.
Step through a looking glass of dark horrors with an Alice you never knew.
Join with Zenna to seek the truth as her death by magic grows closer.
Journey with Olivia as she crosses paths with a monster of the forest and runs for her life.
Watch Isobel summon the faerie to solve her problem of an unwanted husband.
Shiver as Doctor Killbride experiments with corpses to create life from death.
All that and more await within the pages.

Ten stories. Ten women.
Who will survive? Who will fall? And who will succumb to their inner evil?
Find out in Visions and Nightmares.

Warning: This book contains disturbing scenes that may be upsetting to some readers.

Available on Amazon!

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Ladies of Horror Flash Project – #Horror #author Rie Sheridan Rose @RieSheridanRose @darc_nina #LoH #fiction

Posted on March 22, 2023 by Ladies of Horror

The Ladies of Horror
Picture-Prompt Writing Challenge!

06

One For All and All For One  
by Rie Sheridan Rose 

My sisters and I were thick as thieves. You never saw one without the others. We were three peas from the same pod, but that didn’t make us identical. Veronique was the clothes horse–always trying to live up to that silly affectation of a name. Sylvie loved sports and the outdoors. She was a true sylvan at heart. As for me, I was the “normal” one–read boring and belittled. Aside from my sisters, no one ever bothered to learn my real name. They all called me Jenny, though my name was Genvieve.

The year we turned eighteen, my mother wanted to mark the occasion in a big way. I guess she’d earned it, having “to birth all us babies at once.” She never tired of reminding us about that…

Ronnie and Sylvie were having none of it. They refused to have anything to do with the party. I sighed and did whatever Mom asked me to do. It was exhausting, but Mom needed me, and for once I was the “good daughter.”

The party was grandiose and definitely over the top. I fielded questions about where the others were until I was ready to scream, but I managed to make it through the night.

Finally, it was over and I could retreat to our room. The perfect pretty palace for spoiled adolescent girls…it hadn’t changed a bit since we were twelve. Because that was the year I had to start the pretending. Some days, Sylvie went to school and played on the volleyball team and captained the cheerleading squad. Sometimes, Veronique went shopping with Mumsy’s credit cards. Every now and then, Jenny went to class.

Or skipped school and went to visit her sisters in the woods. They are in a better place, I know. But I couldn’t let them keep taking, taking, and taking from Mom and I had to do something about it.

We used to be all for one…but now, we are one for all. And I am the one.

 
Fiction © Copyright Rie Sheridan Rose
Image courtesy of Pixabay.com

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Overheard in Hell:
Dark Poetry

Poems exploring hell and damnation. Tales of sorrow, vengeance, betrayal, and redemption. Ghosts, ghouls, and demons stalk these pages. Don’t read in a lonely house…in a darkened room by a single candle…

…unless you like the touch of an icy finger up your spine.

Available on Amazon!

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Posted in Authors, Dark Fiction, flash fiction, FREE, Horror, Ladies of Horror, Writing Project | Tagged , , , , , , , , | 8 Comments